NYT June 24, 2002 More Empty Than Full

NYT June 24, 2002 At a Party for the Bereaved, the Glasses Seem More Empty Than Full By ANDREW JACOBS SEA BRIGHT, N.J. - At first blush it seemed like an unremarkable country-club gathering: a collection of middle-age suburbanites elegantly dressed for a night of revelry, wine glasses in hand and cocktail chatter competing with pounding music. But when the D.J. shouted, "Are you in the mood to party?" the crowd responded with an uncomfortable silence. A rollicking Bruce Springsteen tune quickly filled the void, conversations picked up where they left off but the dance floor remained empty. If some of the guests were reluctant to celebrate on a recent Friday night in June, it was because they remained deep in mourning. The dinner, organized by a group of residents from nearby Middletown, was an opportunity for the 34 households that suffered a loss of life on Sept. 11 to thank the neighbors and strangers who had showered them with material and emotional support over the past nine months. After raising money for the families and delivering gift baskets to their front doors, the volunteer group, Favor (Friends Assisting Victims of Terror), had declared their mission accomplished. The organizers deliberately wanted the send-off to be festive, not somber; they conceived it as a coming out of sorts for Middletown's wounded, a chance for them to re-experience the joys of life and, perhaps, advance through the healing process. "I think they need to move on," said Allyson Gilbert, a driving force behind the group. But moving on has come easier to the volunteers than the families, many of whom arrived at the Driftwood Cabana Club dressed in black and wearing some remembrance of their loss around their neck. Sandra Grazioso's pendant held a portrait of her two sons, John and Tim, both of whom perished in the World Trade Center. Patricia Wotton's gold chain carried the mangled wedding band of her husband, Rodney, found in the rubble. Many exchanges began this way, "Who did you lose?" Despite the best intentions of its organizers, the night brought only momentary relief to the bereaved; for some, the party music and the calculated levity only heightened their sadness. In the end, the evening seemed to capture the subtle but growing distance between the family members who are still subsumed by grief and most of the rest of society, eager for everyone to find peace. With each passing month, Middletown's families have found themselves pulled into the whirl of weddings, car pools and parent-teacher conferences. Several widows, their breadwinner gone, have been forced to return to work. A number of families have even taken the vacations to Disney World or the Dominican Republic, courtesy of Favor. "As time goes by, you fall back on your old life, even if you have a hole in your heart," said Charles Schroeder, whose daughter, Lorraine Antigua-Schroeder, left behind two school-age children. But many family members say they sense a creeping impatience and insensitivity from a world that until now has treated them with painstaking deference. Political cartoons and letters to the editor have portrayed them as greedy. Old friends have begun to complain again about their husbands' slovenly bathroom habits or obsession with the World Cup, oblivious to a widow's discomfort. And one widow, Ms. Wotton, said she was taken aback when an acquaintance recently asked if she was ready to date. Ms. Wotton, who gave birth to a son on Sept. 19, deflected the overture. Others have endured the sort of everyday indignities that would have been unthinkable just a few months ago. The other day, a neighbor of Ms. Grazioso threatened to call the police about her barking dog. "When I told him I had lost my husband in the World Trade Center and that I bought the dog to help my kids get through this, he said, `I know. That's why I didn't do anything until now,' " she recalled. But now, he told her, "It's not my problem." Although the passage of time has eased some of the agony, many widows say that summer, with its family barbecues and weekends at the shore, has unexpectedly amplified their melancholy. Some have given up the warm-weather routines, saying they are just too excruciating. Kristen Breitweiser used to head to the beach with her husband, Ronald, every Friday night. This year she is staying away from the boardwalk in Spring Lake, where the Breitweisers used to rent a cabana. "Every time I see a father and son with a fishing rod, it goes right through my heart," said Ms. Breitweiser, who has a 3-year-old daughter. "It's terrible seeing happy families. I feel like I don't fit in anymore. I can't wait for winter, when you're not meant to have a good time." Of course, not everyone has pulled back from life. With great reluctance, Barbara Minervino - whose husband, Louis, died on Sept. 11 - and her two daughters recently took a Caribbean cruise, courtesy of Favor. In the end, they found the voyage soothing, especially because few of their fellow passengers knew about their loss. Susan Buhse has resumed the tennis lessons, the morning workouts at the gym and occasional night out with friends, even if most of them are also Cantor Fitzgerald widows. "The world goes on and you can't stop it," she said, sitting in her living room, a few paces from the elegant wooden urn that holds the remains of her husband, Patrick. "You can't do laps in your house all day. It helps to get out and keep busy." After the dispiriting blur of funerals and ground zero tributes, some of the men and women who came to the recent party were eager for a change of scenery. Many, like Tina Grazioso, said she felt compelled to come out and thank the volunteers who helped her family through the first agonizing months after the disappearance of her husband, John. Her hair meticulously styled and blow dried, she said she was also glad to have a night out without her three children. "It's nice because this is one of the first things I've done that's not a memorial service," said Ms. Grazioso, who was accompanied by her mother-in-law and sister-in-law. "But I just don't think I'm ready to party." Bill Lang was one of the few family members who seemed to be enjoying himself - at least outwardly. Despite the unrelieved numbness from losing both a son, Brendan, and a sister, Rosanne, Mr. Lang, 53, struggles against the impulse to withdraw from the world. After dinner, as many of the widows headed for the door, Mr. Lang, paralyzed by an accident 13 years ago, steered his wheelchair to the bar and set to work on the first of several beers. "They worked hard and they partied hard," he said of his lost relatives, explaining his decision to remain. "They wouldn't have expected anything different from me." A parade of friends and strangers approached and offered him kind words. His impromptu speech moments before about the "painful vacuum in his life"and the Frisbee he received from Favor that ended up as a dog bowl had prompted a round of teary-eyed laughter. But every few minutes, Mr. Lang would turn his head and anxiously peer into the crowd. Later he explained that he kept catching phantom glimpses of his sister. "Everywhere I go, I think I see Rosanne or Brendan," he said. "It's so strange." Joseph Capriotti, a detective sergeant in the Middletown Police Department, stood off to the side of the room, clinging to his wife. As the township's liaison to the stricken families, Detective Capriotti has been charged with notifying families when remains are identified. After a busy fall and winter, he has only been dispatched once since January. "I don't think they want to talk to me tonight," he said, explaining his impulse to lay low. "I remind them of that knock on their door." Earlier in the evening, while more than 100 guests dined on roast beef, bow-tie pasta and jullienne carrots, there was plenty of laughter as Ms. Gilbert handed out awards to the most active volunteers. Amid applause and the clanking of cutlery, Jim Gilbert, husband of the organizer Allyson Gilbert, was thanked for putting up with "40 very loud, very annoying women in his home until 1 a.m. stuffing baskets." Tracey Rogers was roasted for fearlessly strong-arming local businesses to donate the art therapy classes, lawn-care services and designer wristwatches that were distributed to the families. In all, Favor collected more than $200,000 in cash and an additional $500,000 in goods and services, some of it from the 18 sister Middletowns across the country. "When we started out, we expected to raise $1,000," Ms. Gilbert said. "We never expect to become advocates for the families and we never expected to develop lasting friendships with them. This has been one of those things that changes your life forever." With the plaques handed out and the speech-making done, she exhorted the guests to return to the bar area. "Get out there and dance," she said into the microphone. "Have a few drinks and have fun." The D.J. started with "We're Having a Party" but the crowd remained aloof from the beat. A pair of volunteers haltingly took to the dance floor, as they shimmied to "Mustang Sally." By 11:30 p.m., most of the widows had left for home or retreated to the quiet of a nearby bar. Ms. Wotton, one of the last to remain, stood off to the side, unconsciously fiddling with her husband's wedding band as she looked toward the dance floor. By then it was crowded with a dozen volunteers dancing to "Living La Vida Loca," their arms waving with abandon as a few playful hoots filled the room.